54: Patchwork
by cali-chan
Summary: Senior year isn't all that it's cracked up to be. College applications, relationship trouble, sex or the lack thereof... Kinda makes you wish a magic bus could take you away from all the drama, right?


**Patchwork**

_Chapter 1: Arnold gets a life coach._

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13.  
**Genre:** Teenage drama, romance, friendship. Probably humor.  
**Pairings:** Carlos/DA, Keesha/OC... others that I probably shouldn't mention else I'll spoil the surprise...  
**Canon/timeline:** Future-fic.

**Summary:** Senior year isn't all that it's cracked up to be. College applications, relationship trouble, sex or the lack thereof... Kinda makes you wish a magic bus could take you away from all the drama, right?

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"Hey girls, look, it's Arnold!"

The redheaded boy looked up, French fry half in his mouth, when he heard his name. His four female best friends had just walked through the door, Wanda specifically pointing in his direction. "Hey, Arnold. You should've told us you were gonna come here for lunch, we would've stopped by earlier."

He took a couple seconds to swallow his food, then greeted them. "Hi, girls. Sorry, I didn't have time. I'm kind of in a rush."

"Why, what do you have to do?" Dorothy Ann questioned him as they moved to stand by his table. For once she wasn't carrying a book with her, although none of them could be sure; her handbag was actually on the big side so maybe she had one in there. Either way it was a long weekend and it was shaping up to be a lazy Saturday, which is why the foursome had chosen that day to hang out in the mall. As the weather was still chilly, there weren't many outdoor activities taking place, many people from their school also seemed to have the same idea.

Arnold quickly finished up his meal, pushing his plate to the side. "I have to be at the airport at four thirty," he explained as he stood up.

"Oh, is a relative coming to visit?" Phoebe asked. Walkerville was a relatively small town, so it didn't have an airport; people would go to the closest city over, about an hour and a half away by car, whenever they had to catch a plane or receive visitors.

"No, not exactly," he replied, taking a look down at his wristwatch to make sure he wasn't terribly late. "Well, you know how I want to get into Harvard, right-"

"Nooo, really?" Wanda interrupted him, in a mock-surprised tone. Her eyes went appropriately wide as if to emphasize her supposed shock at Arnold's words. The gesture, this being Wanda, was kind of hilarious on its own.

"It's why you joined student council," Dorothy Ann pointed out, always practical.

"It's why you organized that food drive for the orphanage..." Phoebe added, sounding proud.

"...And practically the only thing you've talked about _for the past four years_," Keesha finished with a bit of a grumble. She was happy that Arnold was this excited about college, but a person can only take so much blabbering about how many Nobel laureates have graduated from there.

"Heh, yes, well..." Arnold cleared his throat as Wanda and Keesha rolled their eyes at him. "I've already sent in my application and I've confirmed that it was received. Now, all that's left is the interview, a couple months from now. It's kind of the most decisive part of the selection," he emphasized the word decisive, like life or death hinged on it. "It's very tough. I mean, I'm not part of any minority so the diversity vote doesn't work for me, and my extracurricular activities are probably just as good as anyone else's, so I just _have_ to do well on the interview. I _have_ to, or it's over. So, it just happens that I know one of the people in the selection committee..."

"Arnold, you're not going to use this person's influence to get in, are you?" Dorothy Ann asked him, suspicious. She fundamentally disagreed with any breach of protocol in this type of things (this was a person's _education_ they were talking about! Cheating could ruin _lives_ here), and she believed Arnold had the grades, the personality and the ability to be accepted on his own anyway.

"No, of course not!" Arnold was quick to assure her. "He's coming over for two weeks, to kind of coach me for the interview. You know, so I can know what they want from me, which questions to expect, that sort of stuff." He shrugged. "You know how antsy I get about surprises, so the more I know beforehand, the better."

Dorothy Ann conceded that after he explained, the idea didn't seem bad at all. Keesha, though, just raised an eyebrow at him. "So let me get this straight... you've got a life coach?"

"Arnold's got a life coach!" Wanda exclaimed, a bit (a LOT) louder. She laughed, which in turn made Keesha and Dorothy Ann chuckle.

"There's nothing wrong with getting help," Phoebe intervened, conciliatory.

"He's not a life coach!" Arnold exclaimed, cheeks going red as a few people in the café turned to look at them. He huffed, a bit indignant. "He's not a life coach," he repeated in a less exalted tone. "Look, I gotta go. Dad's waiting for me at home, he's gonna drive me. You guys can use this table if you want." He waved at them and practically ran out of the restaurant in his rush.

"Bye, Arnold," the girls chorused as he left, and then moved to occupy the table the young man had just vacated.

Keesha let Dorothy Ann take a look at the menu first, while she texted her boyfriend about something or other. Phoebe, ever polite, handed Wanda her menu as well. The Asian girl rolled her eyes. Phoebe flinched. "What?" she asked, a bit defensive at her friend's expression.

"'There's nothing wrong with getting help'?" Wanda asked, sounding somewhat astounded. "Okay, Phoebe: you _HAVE_ to tell him."

The shy girl paused, uncomfortable at the way the spotlight suddenly turned to her. For a few seconds there, it seemed like she was going to pretend she didn't know what Wanda was talking about, but in the end decided it wasn't worth it. She sighed, resigned to her fate. "Really?"

"Yes!" Wanda exclaimed immediately. As always the girl was so exuberant in her enthusiasm that she dropped the menu on the table a little too strongly. "Phoebe, hello! In six months we'll be at college!" Phoebe bit her lip but otherwise remained quiet. Wanda groaned. "Girls, back me up here, please."

"She's right," Keesha said, without even looking up from her phone.

"You may never see him again," Wanda sentenced, in the tone that the narrator of a superhero cartoon might use when stating that the hero is inevitably doomed.

"Don't be so overdramatic, Wanda," Dorothy Ann intervened, not wanting to freak poor Phoebe out. "He'll just be in Boston, not in Baku."

"...Where _is_ Baku?" was all Wanda could come up with in reply to that.

"Capital of Afghanistan?" Keesha suggested off-handedly, as she was still merrily texting away.

"Azerbaijan," the blonde corrected automatically.

"Dorothy Ann is right," Phoebe cut off the geography tangent with a hopeful determination in her expression. "With any luck, I'll still be somewhere in the east coast. Maybe I could go visit him," she put out, hoping that her friends would take the hint and leave her love-life (or lack thereof) alone for the moment.

"You won't," Wanda immediately threw back at her. "Phoebe, we've known you since we were kids. And you've been pining for him since, what, the third grade? You'll just skirt around it for the rest of your life. It's practically your MO. I know that, and _you_ know that," she finished. She didn't want to push Phoebe to do something she didn't want to do, but she didn't want to see her two friends waste a wonderful opportunity to be happy together. Well, that, and she kind of had a thing for meddling in other people's lives.

"But we're friends," the auburn-haired girl interjected, shaking her head. "What if things get awkward? I don't want to ruin what we have."

"That is such a bogus excuse," Wanda let out an exaggerated groan. She hated when people couldn't see what was right in front of their eyes. "Too much of that, and you'll end up like Carlos and D.A.: Always friendship, never any benefits!"

"Hey!" the blonde interjected when she heard her name being thrown around. Her Asian friend had a gift for switching direction in conversations, and apparently she had decided this one would be about all non-relationship relationships instead of just Phoebe's. "Whatever Carlos and I have is ours to figure out, okay?"

"Does that mean you _are_ getting benefits?" Wanda all but pounced on the opening her friend had just left her.

Dorothy Ann flushed, and opened her mouth to retort. Thankfully, Keesha intervened before things could get too heated at the table. "I think Wanda has a good point, though," she said as she dropped her Blackberry inside her purse. Apparently her conversation with her boyfriend was actually over now. "You'll be going to different schools, and you'll be having different experiences. Let's say you don't tell him now: you'll be thinking 'what if?' all through college, and you'll completely close yourself up to other possibilities." She propped her elbows on the table and rested her heads against her hands. "I don't think that's a good thing, Pheebs."

Phoebe sighed, wrapping her arms around her midsection as she laid back flush against the booth's backrest. She looked up and around, silently contemplating her friends' advice. After a couple of minutes of silence, she looked at them again; all three girls were looking at her, as if expectant. "Do you really think I should tell him?" she asked, needing one last bit of assurance.

Three out of three nodded. "Putting things off doesn't help," Keesha told her softly. They may be prodding her to take action, but confessing your affection for someone was still a pretty big thing, especially for someone as sensitive as Phoebe. "I know that from experience, believe me."

"What experience?" Dorothy Ann asked her, now curious.

Wanda didn't follow her friend's train of thought, though, as she was now focused on the original matter at hand. "Come on, Phoebe! Don't be such a weaselly wimp. I mean, this is _Arnold_ we're talking about. Even if he doesn't like you- which he totally does, by the way-" she waved her hand dismissively, "but even if he didn't, do you really think he'd be mean about it? The guy doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Things will be fine between you two, no matter what!" she finished with an encouraging smile.

Phoebe looked at each of her friends one by one, each of their expressions, and she just knew that it was about time to pluck up her courage. She took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna do it. I'm going to tell Arnold that I like him."

Dorothy Ann whoo'd and Keesha let out an "Atta girl!". Wanda, on the other hand, wrapped an arm around her shy friend's shoulders. "You're going to 'tell him you like him'? Honey, after eight years, it _better_ be love." Even Phoebe herself couldn't contain her laughter after that.

At that moment, a waitress came up to get their orders. "My friend here," Wanda said, a hand still on Phoebe's shoulder, "is going to have the vegan platter. My treat."

Phoebe smiled warmly at her. "Thank you, Wanda." She wasn't only thanking her for the food, of course. She was thanking her for the encouragement and support. She was thanking all of them, really; she couldn't ask for better friends than these. She was so lucky to have them.

The conversation turned to lighter topics as they waited for their food; namely fashion, with Keesha and Wanda arguing the pros and cons of plaid as a new trend, and Phoebe paying close attention. Dorothy Ann, who was sitting in the corner by the wall, distractedly nursed her iced tea, not really interested in what her other friends were discussing. "Hey, Keesha?" she asked after a few minutes of complete silence. The girl in question turned to her, almost surprised at the sound of her voice. "Do you really think two people can be separated for years and still... pine for each other?" she asked once she had Keesha's attention.

The African-American girl frowned lightly at the question, a little confused at the sudden way the topic was brought up. "Well, yeah, I guess. I've never been in that situation, but my sister says it's very common. I mean, they do say long-distance relationships are really hard, right?" A thought crossed her mind and she narrowed her eyes, as if trying to gauge the blonde's intention with the question. "D.A., is everything okay?"

Dorothy Ann nodded. "Oh, yeah, don't worry. I was just... wondering. You know, since we were talking about it earlier and all," she assured the other girl.

"Alright, if you say so," Keesha shrugged.

"It's not like she ever has to worry about that anyway," Wanda intervened with a chuckle. "Carlos is definitely going anywhere _she's_ going!"

"Oh, some people are so lucky," Phoebe added, with a sigh that spoke volumes of how romantic she found her friend's situation.

"Yeah, you're right," Dorothy Ann replied with a smile. As the other three returned to their previous conversation, she once again took a drink; on the one hand, her throat was feeling a little dry, and on the other, she didn't want her friends to catch that her smile was looking a little forced. Luckily for her, if either of the three noticed, none of them brought it up. Small miracles and such.

.

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"You must've hallucinated or something, man. There is no way that man can get a girlfriend that hot."

"I know, I thought so too, but I swear it was him!"

Carlos shook his head emphatically as he dropped his bag in the back of Ralph's car. The man in question was their history professor, Mr. Uger (whom Carlos had taken to calling "Mr. Booger" much to the chagrin of everybody around him- he was trying to get it to catch on), a smelly, chubby, halfway-balding man with zero sense of humor and a perpetually clogged up nose, who probably had a civil war shrine hidden in his closet at home. Ralph insisted he had seen the man come out of the movie theatre accompanied by a woman that could only be described as a blonde bombshell in a tiny red dress. Carlos' opinion was that he wanted a little of whatever Ralph was smoking.

"Maybe it was his niece. Or his parole officer," Carlos suggested with a shrug as took a light jacket out of his bag and put it on. Ralph did the same; while it was cold outside their team would practice in an indoor futsal court, but the light chill hit them back again as soon as they stepped outside. As Carlos moved to the front seat, he caught sight of someone sitting on the bleachers by the school's small baseball court. "Hey, isn't that Tim?"

Ralph looked in the direction his best friend was pointing. "I think so," he said, then started waving to catch the guy's attention. "Yo, Tim! Hey!"

The young man looked up from his sketchbook when he heard his name being called. "Oh, hey, guys!" He quickly stuffed all his things in his backpack and hurried down and toward the parking lot. "What's up? I didn't know you'd be here."

"Just got out of soccer practice," Carlos explained. "What are you doing here?" he asked right back.

"Just sketching," Tim explained, lifting his backpack as if to show them his sketchbook, which was inside. "I got an email from the SCAD student advisor for my department yesterday, turns out they want to see some new stuff from me before they can officially accept me." Tim was applying to the Illustration department at the Savannah College of Art and Design, and apparently it was very competitive. He'd been working his butt off all year, not only in the academic sense but also with his art. "I thought maybe I could get some inspiration here."

"Can I see?" Ralph asked, and Tim handed him the sketchbook so he could browse through it.

"That's tough, man," Carlos intervened. "You'd think they'd only judge you on what you've done up to now, like every other college out there. Why do you have to give them new stuff?"

"It's different for art colleges," said Tim, leaning against Ralph's car in a relaxed manner. "They don't want to see what I already can do, because they're going to teach me, you know? But they want to see the way I think, and the way I see things- that way they can know how much potential I've got. And for that they need a bigger portfolio of my art." He dropped his bag on the ground momentarily. "If it comes down to me and some other person, it's the only thing that can give me an edge."

"This is really neat, Tim," Ralph said, pointing at the latest drawing in the book, which was a sketch of Walker High School. "It really looks like our building."

"Thanks," Tim said as the other boy handed the sketchbook back to him. "I still have to add a lot of the details, though."

"Are you done now, though? We could give you a ride," Carlos offered. It was technically Ralph's car so he shouldn't be offering people rides, but it's not like Ralph would mind anyway. His battered Civic (which had previously been his mother's) was pretty much the group's unofficial primary method of transportation anyway. So long as everybody pitched in for the gas every once in a while, Ralph never had any complaints about driving people.

"Sure, I think I've gotten all I needed from this place today," Tim shrugged, opening the back door and sliding in. "Thanks, guys."

"Don't mention it," said Ralph as he got behind the wheel. He was about to turn the key when he remembered something. "That's right!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Carlos, could you ask Dorothy Ann to please help me study for my SATs? I was like five miserable points away from the minimum last time and this is my last shot. I need to send my results in this time, or they'll reject me. Please?" he begged his friend.

"Ask her yourself," Carlos shrugged him off. He didn't see what the big deal was, it's not like D.A. would refuse to tutor a friend or anything.

"I would, I just didn't want you to think I was intruding on your territory or anything," Ralph reasoned as he turned the car on. "Isn't there a rule in the man code that says you don't intrude on your friend's territory, Tim?"

"I guess there is," Tim said, in a practical tone.

"First: she's not 'my territory'. And don't let her catch you calling her that, by the way, or you can kiss your SATs goodbye," Carlos cleared up as Ralph pulled the car out of the parking lot. "And second: please, you couldn't intrude even if you tried," he added, rolling his eyes. Ralph thought he was such a player because he'd gone out with a few girls in the last couple of years, but the truth was, his dating record wasn't as amazing as he'd like to think.

"I could too, but I won't, because you're my best buddy, amigo," Ralph said, adding a pat on Carlos' shoulder for emphasis. The Hispanic young man shook his head, admittedly somewhat amused by Ralph's antics. "Besides, I'm just 18. I'm quite happy the way I am right now."

"Desperate?" came Tim's suggestion.

"Pathetic?" came Carlos'.

"_Single_," Ralph clarified. Those two thought they were so funny, ha ha. "What I'm saying is: I'm still young, I can afford to play the field a bit. Just because _you_ choose to focus on school," he said, glaring at Tim through the rear-view mirror, "and _you_ have been whipped since you were five," he added, signaling to Carlos with a tilt of his head, "doesn't mean that every guy our age has to be that way."

"_You_ need a girlfriend more than anyone I know, dude," Carlos retorted, shaking his head at his friend's silliness.

"Notice how he didn't deny he's whipped?" Ralph retorted immediately.

"I don't know, Carlos. I wouldn't say _anyone_," Tim started, contemplative. "What about Arnold?"

"We don't have to worry about Arnold," Carlos dismissed Tim's question with a wave of his hand. "He'll be fine. He's got his life coach, anyway."

"Arnold's got a life coach?" Ralph perked up at the sound of that.

"Yeah, some guy is coming over to teach him how to act so he can get into Harvard," Carlos explained. Arnold had mentioned it to him, just in passing, the previous day. He'd mocked the redheaded boy about it for a few minutes, but after that he admitted it was actually quite a good idea. They didn't let just anyone into Harvard, after all. "He's got his life all planned out, either way. It's not like he needs a girl to guide him."

"Hey," Tim started, as he looked out the window and noticed they were driving down the familiar path to his house, "um, do you guys wanna maybe stop by a fast food joint or something?" he suggested, taking up the space between the two front seats so he could better look at his two friends as he spoke.

"I don't know, I kind of just wanna go home and crash," said Carlos as he stretched his sore arms. It may not seem like it to a lot of people, but soccer was actually a full-body sport. He found it especially tough on the shoulders. And since he was the captain, he kind of had to follow up on everyone's progress, so he found Saturday practice sessions even more jarring than the rest, because they were longer.

"I am kinda hungry, though," said Ralph with a shrug. "I could go for a burger."

"You're always hungry," Carlos interjected.

"Well, it takes a lot of protein to sustain these muscles," Ralph said, patting his right bicep as if that was all the explanation needed. Truth be told, he wasn't bulky or anything, but sports ensured he kept in good shape and he was rather proud of it.

Carlos snorted. "You're so gay."

"Five seconds ago you said I needed a girlfriend," Ralph retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"So, should we swing by McDonald's?" Tim suggested, thinking he'd better intervene before the argument could deteriorate into something even more stupid, as was often the case when those two were involved. Ralph nodded and took a right turn, driving away from Tim's street and in the direction of the one local Mickey D's.

"Hey, speaking of _swinging_..." Carlos started, in that tone that made it obvious that he was one word away from bringing up one of his puns of doom.

"_Carlos_," the other two warned him.

"Fine, fine, everyone's a critic," the Hispanic boy muttered under his breath. As he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, his eye caught something a little farther up the street and he sprang forward immediately. "Hey, that's Mr. Booger!" he said, sticking his head out the window so he could take a better look. He couldn't believe it, but their inane conversation had somehow come full circle.

"Carlos, just quit it with the nickname. It's never going to happen," Tim groaned as he heard the dreaded moniker.

The other boy blissfully ignored him. "He's with a blonde woman! She's grabbing his _arm_!" he exclaimed, completely stupefied by the fact.

"See, I told you so!" Ralph exclaimed with similar enthusiasm. "Quick, snap a picture! Nobody's gonna believe this..." He added, the last phrase more to himself. Carlos whipped out his cell phone and did as Ralph said; the picture was a little blurry because the car was moving, but the tweed jacket and the balding head would ensure everybody in school would be able to recognize their history teacher. The big mystery was: who was the buxom woman walking beside him?

"Maybe she's blind," Tim commented as he looked at the picture a few minutes later. Carlos and Ralph looked at each other as they got off the car.

Of course. Now it all made sense.

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"Do you see him yet? Nobody around here looks remotely like a Harvard graduate to me."

Mr. Perlstein laughed, with a shake of his head for his son. "And what should a Harvard graduate look like, Arnold?" he asked as he removed his glasses and wiped them with the bottom of his t-shirt. It was so cold inside the building that they were getting fogged up. The younger Perlstein was so anxious that he didn't seem to notice, though. "We're going to have to wait until he comes up to us, I'm afraid. I don't really know what he looks like."

Arnold turned a confused glance at him. "What do you mean? I thought he's a former co-worker of yours," he said. He hadn't actually asked many things when he heard his father had connections at Harvard- he'd been too relieved to think to ask, so he'd just assumed. He hoped this "mentor" of his wasn't a friend of a friend of a friend of his father's or something like that, things could get pretty awkward if the man was just a total stranger.

"Why would a co-worker of mine be in the Harvard selection committee?" Mr. Perlstein wondered airily, more directed to himself than to his son. He shook his head. "No, he's my co-worker's _son_. He graduated from Harvard Business school and went on to set-up a very successful internet business. He sells locks or something."

Now, that didn't make a lot of sense to Arnold. Why would Harvard have a locksmith be a part of their selection committee? Still, he couldn't exactly let his thoughts wander now; if he got distracted, he might miss their visitor's arrival. "How old is this guy supposed to be, then? If he's your friend's son, he must not be that old..." He stood up on his tiptoes so he could get a clearer look at the arrivals gate. The airport was crowded, which they hadn't been expecting since it was a Saturday and there was still one more day to go on the long weekend. Still, no choice now but to work with the crowd.

"I don't know... twenty-eight, twenty-nine?" Mr. Perlstein raised a hand to his chin as he thought about it. "I remember he was born the year Henry Fonda died..."

"Who's Henry Fonda?" Arnold wondered, frowning. Then he shook his head; absolutely not the time to go rowing down memory lane. It was almost 5:30 and there was still no sign of this guy. He was starting to get worried. "Dad, if he had missed his flight he would've called us to let us know, right?" He turned to his father and started firing a bunch of other questions before the other man even had a chance to answer the first one. "What if his connecting flight got delayed due to bad weather? What if the plane ran out of gas in the middle of the flight? What if they had to land in an abandoned street in the middle of the desert? Can that actually happen?"

"Actually, I think pilots are really authorized to land in those conditions, but..."

"Dad, really not helping," the younger man said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't need any extra information to jump to the worst conclusions, his paranoia could do that all on its own.

The elder Perlstein shrugged. "I was just going to say that I think that's him," he added, pointing in the direction of the arrivals gate, where a tall, brown-haired man was making his way through the crowd, seemingly toward them. He was wearing dark jeans, comfortable shoes, a striped shirt that looked very expensive and a dark brown trench coat belted at the waist. He had a designer watch on his left wrist, that was obvious when he moved to get his glossy, shaggy hair out of his eyes. He was pulling his travel bag on wheels behind him as he walked with purpose through the crowd.

It took Arnold all of five seconds after he set eyes on him to know that this man was everything he wanted to be when he was older.

"Hi. Mr. Perlstein?" the guy asked when he finally dodged enough people to come near the redheaded twosome. He let his bag sit on the floor beside him as he stretched out a hand to Arnold's father. The fellow adult responded to the question in the positive and shook his hand accordingly. "And this is the reason I'm here, I gather," he said as he turned to Arnold himself.

Mr. Perlstein put a hand on the teenager's shoulder, nodding his head. "This is Arnold. Son, this is Joseph Vasilakis," his father let him know, gesturing with his hand to each of them as he spoke.

"You can call me Joe," their visitor said with a confident smile, stretching his hand toward Arnold this time. The boy shook it, suddenly feeling somewhat intimidated.

Well. These next couple of weeks were bound to be interesting.

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**Author's note!-**

If you want to know how grownup!MSB-gang look for this fic, check out my ideal cast here (just take out the spaces): http : / community . livejournal . com / wakizashi_ / 19757 . html

Henry Fonda died in 1982. He was an actor from the United States. He was really big in his time (from the 1930's and onward), doing Broadway and movies. I've only seen him in 12 Angry Men (in which he was pretty damn awesome, btw), but he also got nominated for an Oscar for his role in The Grapes of Wrath. He was father to Jane and Peter Fonda and grandfather to Bridget Fonda. In 1999 the AFI named him the 6th greatest male star of U.S. cinema.

If you're getting Gary-Stu-ish vibes from this Joe guy... yeah, I'm not even trying to be subtle about it. Poor Arnold got all flustered, though- but don't worry, I won't be writing any slash between these two; Arnold's just got a little boycrush on the dude, that's all. It's more admiration than anything else, I swear. xD

Also, I'm taking a little artistic license on the weather. In my head Walkerville is in upstate New York, but I live in a tropical country and the northmost place I've been in the US is, like, Atlanta. So please cut me some slack on this; I know it's supposed to be cold in late February/early March, I'm just not sure how cold.

Meanwhile, let's play catch the catchphrase! In some of the chapters, I'll have one or two characters drop their classic catchphrases from the TV show. Try to find them and you'll get... virtual cookies! LOL. I don't know, this is mostly just for fun. Psst, there was one in this chapter. ;)

Second chapter should be coming along in a few of weeks, hopefully! -fingers crossed-.


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